#Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

[sirowsky-stories]

Temple of Love

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @bilibiche Prompt #12: How did you do that? Prompt #15: I swear I'm not drunk. Character: Pero Tovar

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x Gender Neutral Reader. AU. Meet cute. Pero has no right to be this hot while twirling deadly weapons around like chop-sticks, okay! Sexual tension galore. Highly suggestive narrative. Soundtrack: Sisters of Mercy - Temple of Love Word Count: 1570 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   You’re late for the first class, rushing into the building where you find no staff at the front desk who can direct you, so for a moment, you just stand there looking around, wondering which door you’re supposed to take.    There are only three people working here, all of whom are instructors, so the front desk is only manned in between classes or when one of them doesn’t have anything on schedule.

   A whiteboard behind the desk shows which classes are available today, and at which times, but it doesn’t say where each one is. So, you’re just gonna have to peek through the doors at random, hoping you won’t disturb anyone.    Fittingly, the first door you crack open leads to a cleaning and maintenance room, both of which you should really apply to your own life so that you might regain some order.

   Opening the second door on the same side of the hallway reveals what looks like a lunchroom for the staff, and now you’re getting seriously frustrated with yourself, so you move to the other side of the corridor and click the closest door open.    It’s the wrong room but you end up frozen on the threshold as the sight that meets you leaves you breathless.

   A man is training alone in there. You’ve never seen the actual man before, but his picture is on the wall in the reception, so you know that his name is Pero and that he works here, but that’s also all you know about him.    You had no idea that he’s apparently an expert swordsman.    While you stand there, mesmerized by the rapid glimmer of the lights reflected in the metal as the man twirls and swings in perfect synchronicity, you can hear how the swords sing.

   Without even knowing it, you’re drawn into the room, carefully closing the door behind you, not even glancing away from the hypnotizing display before you.    But you remain right by the wall just inside the door, afraid to get too close and even more afraid that the guy might get angry at you if you disrupt his routine. So, you just stand there, like a statue, trying to work out how he can do any of this without cutting himself to pieces.

   Then suddenly, he stops. It happens so abruptly that you flinch at the sudden lack of motion, when just half a second ago you were having trouble keeping up with the lightning-fast movements.    He’s not done, though. He seems to be ending one routine and starting another, and if you’re not mistaken, you see his eyes momentarily lock with yours when he steps to the side to turn on some music, before he starts going again.

   And amazingly… impossibly… he’s moving even faster now.    Building speed as he goes, finding the rhythm to Temple of Love, he’s now using the entire floor, whistling past you at a mere three-foot distance, leaping into the air and flipping around in what looks like impossible maneuvers to your eyes.    He’s not just fast, he’s crazy agile too. And you feel like maybe he’s showing off. Just a tad.

   Not that you mind. You’d happily watch this all day.

   Sadly, it soon ends, when he returns to the center of the room and once again becomes completely still, this time even dropping to his knees and putting the swords down.    It isn’t until he’s gotten up, turned the music off and is walking towards you that you remember why you’re even here.

   “S-sorry… I was looking for…” you try, but your mind goes blank when he pulls his white t-shirt off and starts using it as a towel on his literally dripping wet neck, chest and arms.

   “Yes?” he softly prompts you to continue, and you could swear that you see a small smirk in the lines around his mouth as he watches your eyes follow the contours of his muscles.

   “Um… I was looking for the self-defense class.”

   “That’s at the end of the hall. Another three doors down,” he politely directs you, and you know that you should leave, that you’re already way late, but somehow your legs aren’t moving.

   “You should put some numbers on the doors, or something,” is all you can think to say, and he smiles and nods.

   “We’re waiting to have them repainted with chalk paint so that we can write on them.”

   “Oh. That’s clever,” you dumbly reply while your eyes once again drift away from his, tracing the slow movement of a single drop of sweat, trickling down his Adam’s apple and then briefly stopping in the little dip between his collar bones, before continuing down his sternum.

   “Find something interesting?” he asks, snapping your attention back to his face, but thankfully finding him only bemused by your ogling.

   “Well, uh, I was just wondering… How did you do that?” you manage to say, despite your growing shame at your own lack of restraint.

   “I first learned as a young boy. And as with anything you want to master, it takes thousands of hours of practice, first with sticks, then blunt blades, and finally the real thing.    But what I teach here is more basic. Usually, actors who need to learn not to look useless holding a sword in a movie or tv-show.”

   “That seems like a waste of talent, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

   “No, that’s alright. There isn’t much need for my level of skill in the real world. I don’t do this as a way of fighting, it’s more like… meditation,” he explains, and you’re a bit surprised at the admission that he might need that kind of soul cleansing.

   He notices your slight reaction, but it only makes him smile.

   “I have plenty of reasons to need meditation. Everyone does. And most of us do find our own way to it. Some play golf, some play video games. Others walk dogs or ride horses.    What’s your thing?” he finishes by turning the topic over to you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   “I don’t know… I like to read, I guess. That usually helps me relax.”

   “Good,” he nods approvingly, but then his smile turns a bit sly. “Still not great at reading the time, though.”

   “Oh, shit!” you gripe, remembering your class. “I’m so sorry I bothered you, sir.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” he kindly offers, and you finally manage to coax your legs into turning you around.

   But as you turn, you stumble down from the thin mat which protects the floor, and people’s limbs from breaking, and you’re about to fall on your face when he catches you.

   “Careful, there. It’s easy to snag the soles of your shoes in the added grip of the mat.”

   Afraid that you’re just gonna embarrass yourself even more if you try to speak, you just smile and nod before heading for the door.    You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped onto the mat at all. When had you done that?    The question becomes moot, however, when you go to open the door, miss the handle and end up walking straight into the wooden frame.

   Instead of stepping back, you just rest your forehead against the door, putting your hands on your hips in pointless defiance of your own stupidity, trying to bury the humiliation by just not looking at him, because you know that he saw it.

   “I swear I’m not drunk,” you grumble, surely looking like a complete idiot but too far gone to care.

   “I didn’t think so,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Still… maybe I should drive you home.”

   You lift your head away from the door and drop your arms down your sides, frowning deeply as you try to ascertain if he actually just said that or if you merely imagined it.    Your own brain is too unreliable right now, so you turn around to look at him in the hopes of finding an answer, but he’s just standing there, as leisurely as ever.

   “What?” you try, and after a moment, he smiles again.

   “I said that maybe I should drive you home. You seem dangerously distracted.”

   “Well, I wholeheartedly and unapologetically blame you for that. No one should be so talented and look that good,” you retort, before mentally chastising yourself, because you might as well be drunk.

   You never talk like that to strangers. Not ever.

   He steps closer then, until he’s crowding you against the back of the door, and his smell hits your senses like a sledgehammer.    Sweat, of course, but remnants of deodorant as well. And when his hand comes up to brush a stray hair back into place, you can smell the metal and leather of the handles of his swords.

   “If I do take you home,” he starts, and his voice is honey now, deep and low, “then I’ll need to come inside and make sure you get to bed alright.    So, with that in mind, I’ll ask again: Do you want me to drive you home?”

   You try to think rationally, to weigh the potential dangers against the potential benefits, but if your mind wasn’t working before, it sure as shit ain’t working now.    All you’ve got is how you feel, in this moment right now, and there’s no ambivalence present. You know exactly what you want.    For once, it’s an easy answer.

   “Yes. Please.”

THE END

Massive thanks to @bilibiche for putting the image of a sweat-soaked Pero Tovar showing off with shiny swords into my head, cause that's gonna take a hot minute to scrub out! XD Seriously though, this was a hoot! Thank you, love.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky]

For your follower celebration #3. You're supposed to carve the pumpkin, not crush it with Pero??

Oh, yes! That sounds like fun 😄 Thank you so much for helping me celebrate! I hope you'll have a lovely weekend 💖

[sirowsky-stories]

The Haunted Toaster

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @myloveistoolittle Prompt #5: Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust? Prompt #18: What happened to the toaster? Character: Javier Gutierrez

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Javier Gutierrez x Gender Neutral Reader. Established relationship. The toaster might really be haunted. Implied smut. Word Count: 660 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   He looks quite adorable when he whirls around, startled by your presence since he clearly hasn’t heard you arrive, and the motion sends glitter flying all over the kitchen.    You’d thought that he’d heard the front door open and close, so you’re equally startled by his reaction, momentarily freezing right in the middle of putting your bag down on top of the dishwasher.

   “Javi… why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?” you ask, unsure of where else to begin with the scene before you.

   “I was trying an experiment,” he says, before realizing that he’s holding the plug of the toaster up beside him, and quickly shifts both arms to hide behind his back instead. “It… maybe didn’t go as planned.”

   “Maybe?” you question, but you can’t help but smile because he’s just too sweet. “What happened to the toaster?”

   You try to peek behind him, but he sidesteps to block your view, so you stop and raise your eyebrows at him while dipping your chin in a silent challenge for the truth, and he immediately caves.

   “I don’t know what happened, amor! The man in the video just poured the glitter into the toaster and turned it on, and then when it popped up it was like a little rainbow, it was so cute! And I knew you would love it, so I got all the stuff, but when I tried…”

   He lets go of the plug and moves away so that you can see the damage, and oh golly.

   “It looks like the whole thing imploded. Are you sure that it wasn’t radioactive dust you used?” you question, and he brings you the bag that it had been sold in.

   “See, it says that it’s heat safe, will not melt even in the highest oven temperatures. I don’t underst-…”

   He’s cut off by the sound of the toaster suddenly creaking ominously, and you both take a quick step back.

   “Do you think it’s haunted?” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you from the side, but you get the feeling that it’s more to comfort himself rather than you.

   “Why would anything haunt a toaster?” you retort, but right then, the damned thing seems to cough and more glitter whirls into the air before landing on the counter.

   You wrap your arms around his waist now too, and together the two of you back away further, slowly heading out of the kitchen.    But when it hops, all on its own, three inches forwards on the counter, you both scream and leg it, running for the bedroom where you close and lock the door.

   “This is ridiculous,” you chuckle at yourself after you’ve both been standing pressed against the door for a while, trying to hear if it’s still moving.

   “It fucking moved!” he growls, while you step away and lay down on the bed.

   “It was probably just the metal cooling.”

   “Then why did you run?” he challenges, crossing his arms over his chest, and you have to stifle a laugh because he still looks so cute with all that pink glitter in his hair, on his face and all over his shirt.

   “Because it’s Halloween, and we’re all in spooky mode.”

   “I’m not. I was trying to prepare a cute surprise, not something spooky,” he says, and he looks genuinely sad that he didn’t get to surprise you with the sparkly rainbow.

   “Javi… you’re covered in glitter standing at the foot of our bed. If you wanna give me something cute, just take off your clothes and let me have you.”

   He likes that. Enough that he forgets all about haunted toasters and failed experiments, shedding his clothes in record time before jumping up onto the bed and preceding to shake all the loose dust off himself and down onto you, making you giggle at his playfulness, before he drops to his knees and settles in between your legs.

   “Just tell me where you want me, amor.”

THE END

Thank you so much, Casey! This one was terrific fun to write and hopefully also fun to read :D

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky-stories]

All Hallows Quarrel

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @spishsstuff Prompt #2: What's with all the candles? Prompt #12: How did you do that? Prompt #20: Can we just go home and have sex now? Character: Marcus Moreno

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x Female Reader. Reader has a strained relationship with her mother. Can be read as canon, in which case the ending is both happy and kinda sad, if you've seen the movie. Word Count: 825 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   “Uh… honey?” Marcus called out as he stepped through the front door of your shared home.

   “Yeah?” you called back from further into the house.

   “What’s with all the candles? Are we celebrating something?” he asked while taking off his shoes and hanging up his leather jacket, both of which were sounds you knew by heart.

   “It’s called All Hallows Eve. Heard of it?” you teased as you walked into the kitchen, meeting him coming from the opposite direction.

   “That’s today?”

   “Wow. You’re amazing, you know that? No one I’ve ever met is as unbothered by the passing of time as you are, my darling.    Seasons, holidays, birthdays, it all just passes you by.”

   “Hey, I have never missed your birthday, or an anniversary,” he hurriedly countered, making you snicker.

   “I’m talking about your own birthdays, Mo.”

   “Oh. Yeah, I do tend to miss those.”

   You just smiled and kissed him to welcome him home and he snagged you into one of his signature tight hugs before letting you go.    But as he pulled back, there was a confused crease to his forehead once more.

   “Why are you dressed to go out?” he noted, realizing that you were wearing a bra, which you never did at home unless you knew that you’d be leaving the house again soon.

   “Ah, yes. Help me put all the candles out, will you. I was a bit premature in lighting them, it seems, because we have to go to my mother’s house for dinner. She’s already called me like six times.”

   He chuckled at that, before heading to the bedroom to change out of his dress-shirt and into a nice Henley.    Marcus loved the relationship you had with your mother, because it was a very Italian one. You’d argue as though you were bitter enemies at times, but even so, you never parted ways without hugging or telling each other how much you loved one another.    And she always doted on her one and only son-in-law.

   When he walked back into the kitchen, you’d moved to the adjoining living room and started putting candles out, but then all the little flames suddenly went out at once, without so much as a breath having moved through the house.    Confused, you looked around and saw your husband grin knowingly where he stood, leisurely leaning against the kitchen island with his hands in his pockets.

   “How did you do that?” you asked, more than mildly impressed, because even after five years of knowing this man and two years of being married to him, he still managed to surprise you.

   “Trade secret,” was all he offered in response, so you huffed at him and then went to put your shoes on.

   “Some day you’d better tell me all these little trade secrets of yours, Mr. Moreno.”

   “When we’re grey and old, cariño. How else am I gonna keep you interested for another fifty years?” he joked while pulling his jacket back on.

   As always, your mother made a big deal of everything. That you were late, that you were casually dressed for what she considered a big occasion, that you hadn’t brought her any gifts, all of which you ignored since she hadn’t alerted you to the fact that you were expected to attend this dinner, until just over an hour earlier.    You did actually get through the meal without getting into any heated arguments, though.

   It wasn’t until she started once again nagging on you for not having a “real” job, that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut anymore.    Sure, you worked mostly from home, but it was very much a real job, and it paid much better than anything she’d ever worked with.    There was something about this need of hers to always make you feel small and unaccomplished that just got to you, sending you into a rage in no time flat.

   Marcus never tried to diffuse the situation; he knew better than to get involved. So instead, he just waited until your mother became riled up enough to leave the room, and then he got up and pulled you to your feet, wrapping his arms around you and somehow just squeezing the anger out of you.

   “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had my fill of All Hallows Eve, I think. Can we just go home and have sex now?” he asked, entirely serious, which made it both comical and comforting.

   “Yeah. This Eve done lost her Hallows,” you answered, keeping to the light tone of the moment, which your mother then managed to ruin.

   “Yes, go home and make babies!” she shouted from the kitchen, and you were just too done with her right then to go off on her again.

   “Love you, mom,” was all you replied, and then you and Marcus left, thankfully managing to restore your happy mood from before once you were alone between your sheets.

   And nine months later, Missy was born.

THE END

Thank you, Tish! You always manage to give me fun challenges for these celebrations. I hope you enjoyed it :)

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky-stories]

Grumpy Pumpkin

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @heareball Prompt #3: You're supposed to carve the pumpkin, not crush it. Character: Pero Tovar

Rating: Teen Warnings: Pero Tovar x Gender Neutral Reader. AU. Established relationship. Pero's having a day. Word Count: 750 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   “Stop pouting over there, there’s a perfectly good pumpkin waiting for you over here. Look, I even made sure that yours is bigger than mine, so you won’t feel inferior,” you said, casually pointing at the large orange ball at the other end of the table, while glaring intently at him.

   He’d been sitting in a corner sulking all day because you’d chosen to carve decorations rather than help him work on his car. Which was kinda ridiculous because you never helped anything out there anyway, you didn’t know any of that stuff, so it was just boring for you to passively participate in.    But you still humored him now and then, which was why you were getting back at him today, because he rarely did the same for you and you were a bit sick of it.

   “Fine. Be that way. But if you’re not gonna help then get out of the kitchen. I don’t sit and glare at you when you’re tinkering with that engine and talking about the moon for all I know about cars, hour after hour after hour.    Go on, scoot!” you chastised him, threatening to throw pumpkin seeds at him if he wasn’t gonna listen either.

   “Fine,” he sourly grumbled, but instead of leaving, he came to the table and picked up a knife, stabbing it into the top of the pumpkin and then carving off the lid.

   You were so unprepared for it that you stopped working as you watched him, mildly mesmerized by the sight of him handling the blade. He’d always been fantastically skillful with knives.    Then, once he had the top off, he switched to a scooping tool and started emptying the thing, but he was so forceful in his efforts that he risked destroying it.

   “Hey, take it easy. It’s not a sprint. You’re supposed to try and have fun with this.”

   “What’s so funny about a fucking pumpkin? It’s just a big orange blob with holes in it…”

   “See, that offends me, because I’ve been working on this one for two hours and I think it looks pretty damned good,” you countered, before turning your blob around so that he could see the truly excellent scary face you were just about done with.

   He merely glared at it for a few seconds, then returned to his carving, so you put the finishing touches to your masterpiece and immediately got started on the next one.    You kept close watch on what he was doing, though, so you noticed that he started cutting the face without drawing it first, but you refrained from commenting on it.    About a minute later, you suddenly heard a minor breaking sound, and looked up to find him holding half the face of his blob in his hand.

   “Pero… You’re supposed to carve the pumpkin, not crush it,” you whined, and without missing a beat, he turned his head to give you a perfectly executed side-eye.

   “I didn’t like the way it looked at me,” he grumbled, and within a second you were suddenly doubled over in laughter because his delivery was spot on, flawless comedic timing.

   Whether he’d meant it as a joke or not, your reaction apparently rubbed off on him, because he was soon on the floor with you, laughing hysterically.    After a day of so much tension, the sudden levity was more than welcome, it was needed, and you both allowed it to feed you all the positivity that you’d been keeping each other away from with your taciturn antics.    Which was why, by the time you’d stopped giggling, you were sitting huddled together against the kitchen counter, leaning on each other.

   This was your routine. The tension never lasted too long between you, but it could get really intense at times, which almost always led to stuff like this.    Because he wasn’t a grumpy person at all, that was just a smoke screen. He asked you to join him in the garage sometimes simply because he got lonely out there. And he joined in with the pumpkins for the same reason, even though he knew that it would backfire because he really didn’t have a clue of how to properly carve one.

   And as much as he might’ve hated feeling ignorant, he hated being alone more.

   “I love you, grouch,” you warmly reaffirmed.

   “It really did look at me funny,” he said, teasing you, so you slapped him lightly over his chest, making him chuckle. “I love you too, pumpkin.”

THE END

Thank you, Ashlee! This got a bit deeper than I'd intended, but I kinda love the dynamic between them and the underlying understanding that even though it might look like they're angry or annoyed with each other, it's all just for show.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky-stories]

Like Father, Like Son

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @yourstrulylightstar283 Prompt #5: Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust? Character: Dieter Bravo

Rating: Teen Warnings: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character Gabriela, plus his son Mateo. Pure fluff! (I haven't seen the movie, so this is a lose interpretation of the character. Also, this fic is not overtly Halloween themed.) Word Count: 650 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   He’s supposed to be watching his wife’s niece being celebrated, he knows that. It’s her Quinceañera. But when his beloved Gabriela is wearing a gorgeous summer dress, sitting in the bright sun with her tanned skin glistening from the heat and her dark curls falling protectively over her bare shoulders, he really can’t be blamed for having trouble looking at anything but her.

   He had never imagined that he could have this. That someone like her, who is well educated, who owns her own business, who has friends in all the highest places, this woman who could have anyone in the world, would have chosen him.    The life he’d led up until the point they’d met hadn’t been bad. Not at all. He’d chosen to live exactly as he’d wanted, refusing to apologize for the pleasures he’d enjoyed or the overall chaos that he’d seemed to thrive so effortlessly in.

   But in Gabi, he’d discovered so many new things, so many wonderful layers of life that he’d never thought existed outside of the silver screen. And suddenly, all the things that had always seemed so important had faded into the background, making room for all this instead.    Family and friendships that last and can be depended on. People he can trust completely.

   “Hey, Dee,” a voice whispers in his ear, and he recognizes it as his brother-in-law before he’s even turned around. “Mateo needs you.”

   “Is he okay?” Dieter asks, immediately concerned.

   “Yeah, just come with me.”

   The man leads him into the house where the younger kids are being prepared to take part in a surprise dance routine to delight the girl of the day, and where Dee’s three-year-old son is practicing his twirling skills.    He walks up to the boy and kneels in front of him, finding the kid smiling and giggling, so at least there really isn’t anything wrong.

   “What’s going on, mijo?” he asks, smiling along as Mateo’s joy infects him.

   But instead of answering, the boy puts his arms out in front of his chest, with his little fists closed and upturned, as if preparing to hand his father something.

   “What do you have there?” Dieter inquires with a playful tone, and the kid giggles even harder as he opens his hands and blows hard at them.

   A cloud of pink glitter hits his father in the face, over the shoulders and down his chest, and the boy collapses in a laughing fit.

   “Ay, mijo…” Dee smiles after blinking the worst of it out of his eyes. “Do I look pretty?” he asks then, and Mateo nods while still rolling on the floor, pleased with himself for this flawless execution of a glitter prank.

   He leans over the boy and shakes his clothes to share the sparkling goodness, earning even more laughter in return, before his mother-in-law calls for Mateo to come back to the group and get ready, because they’re about to give the birthday girl her surprise.

   “I love you, mijo,” Dieter says, hugging his son before he runs off to join the others.

   He throws his father a kiss as he falls into their ranks, and it feels as though his heart might crack open right there where he stands, as his love for this child overflows once more.    Returning outside so that he won’t miss the performance, he takes a seat next to Gabi, who chuckles warmly at the sight of her husband.

   “Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?” she asks in a hushed voice, and he smiles.

   “Because our son is the sweetest little boy there is, my love.”

   She just hums at that, but when the children emerge from the house, succeeding in surprising the birthday girl who squeals in excitement, and Gabriela sees that her son is covered in the same stuff, she laughs and lovingly shakes her head.

   “Those are my boys, alright.”

THE END

Thank you @yourstrulylightstar283 for helping me celebrate, and I hope that this is at least something like what you imagined. I tried not to go into specifics about the Quinceanera since I don't know what it entails, and chose to focus on Dieter instead :)

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky-stories]

Sirowsky's Double Whammy

Welcome to the party!

Now, as mentioned, these stories are Halloween themed, but there's no horror involved. Based on the prompts you've chosen, I've ended up writing mostly sweet little stories, so expect nothing particularly scary. However: The 18+ Rating still applies!

I'm starting to post a few days early, because I realized that I'm gonna be very busy this coming week, so feel free to keep sending me Prompts if you get inspired.

This post will serve as the masterlist for these stories, so you'll be able to find it at the bottom of my overall Masterlist. Also, I've really tried to keep these short and easily digestible, so I hope nothing feels incomplete.

Halloween Parade - Pero Tovar (DMTU) 825 words

Like Father, Like Son - Dieter Bravo 650 words

All Hallows Quarrel - Marcus Moreno 825 words

The Haunted Toaster - Javier Gutierrez 660 words

Grumpy Pumpkin - Pero Tovar 750 words

Temple of Love - Pero Tovar 1570 words

Recovery - Marcus Moreno 680 words

As always, I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications and you will only be notified when I post new chapters/fics. I will make exceptions to anyone who finds this option troublesome, for some reason, but I do not guarantee that I'll remember to tag people, because I do not keep a list.

Beyond that; Thank you to everyone who reads my stories, and I reserve a special star in the sky for each one of you who comments or communicates in some other way, to tell me what you're thinking/feeling about what I've written! You are amazing and I love you ;D

[sirowsky-stories]

Recovery

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @yourstrulylightstar283 No prompts for this one, it's based on This Ask. Character: Marcus Moreno

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character Sarah, plus daughters Missy and Bianca. AU. Allusions to severe injuries. Flashbacks. Comfort and fluff. Word Count: 680 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   It’s been over a month when he’s finally discharged from the hospital, and it feels so good to be back home.    Of course, his last mission with the Heroics had to have gone bad, sending him into retirement with a bang. He’s not sure why he ever expected that it would just go smoothly, because that’s almost never been the case in the past.

   Thankfully though, he is alive and well on his way back to normal, surrounded by family and friends, all of whom have been there for him every step of the way.    He still has a long way to go with months of physical therapy to get through before he’ll be considered fully recovered, but there’s no rush. He’s got everything he needs right here at home, because that’s where his girls are.

   They’re in the kitchen today, preparing a small feast to celebrate his survival and homecoming, and he happily sits in a reclining armchair in the living room, watching the three of them bustle about, helping each other with the various dishes while joking around and having fun.    God, he loves the sounds of their happiness.

   Once all the dishes are finished, they help him get to the table since he still gets winded if he exerts himself too much. The long-term effects of a busted lung.    Then Missy calls for everyone’s attention.

   “So, I know that it’s Halloween this weekend, but I thought that maybe we could look at this like a mini Thanksgiving dinner. Because I feel like we all have so much to be thankful for right now and I, for one, don’t feel like focusing on anything scary for a good long while.”

   “I think that’s a great idea, sweetheart,” Sarah agrees, and Missy smiles at her adoptive mother before turning to her adoptive sister.

   “Is that alright with you, Bianca?”

   “Of course,” her little sister agrees. “You know I don’t like spooky stuff anyway.”

   Marcus hears them agree and start to chatter happily about all the things they’re grateful for right now, but his mind is drifting.    A light sting of pain from his damaged side has brought him back to that night. To the fight and the loss. The terrible pain that he suffered as his body was broken long before he lost consciousness.    How he’d tried to keep fighting to protect his teammates.

   He remembers every punch and every cut, followed by the unyielding pavement that had broken his fall, after he’d been hurled ten feet into the air, finally leaving him unable to rise back up anymore.    And he remembers waking up but being unable to ask about his team. Not knowing if he’d failed to protect them had scared him more than his own condition had.

   “Dad?” Missy’s voice reaches him, breaking through the haze of pain and fear, and he refocuses to find all three of them staring at him with concerned expressions now.

   Clearly, they’ve been trying to get his attention more than once.

   “I’m okay,” he assures them. “I just… needed to remember.”

   They know what he means by that. How he sometimes can’t stop the images, but has to let them live and be real, because if he tries to bury or ignore them, they come back in the form of crippling nightmares or unbearable headaches.

   “Did it pass?” Bianca asks quietly, and he smiles softly at her.

   “It always does when I’m around my girls.”

   That makes them all smile, relieving all tension from the room as they dig into the delicious food that they’ve spent all afternoon making.    And Marcus thinks to himself that it doesn’t matter what he’s been through, because the network of support that surrounds him will forever protect him from any real harm. Their love shields his heart and keeps the deepest and most precious parts of his mind safe.

   Through the care that they give to his soul, he has in some ways already fully recovered. And that’s what he’s gonna tell them that he’s thankful for, every Thanksgiving for as long as he lives.

THE END

I'm sorry for the delay @yourstrulylightstar283 but all the little stories I've been writing for this celebration really helped to inspire me to write this, so I hope you like it.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky]

Hi!

I just found your blog and I love it! Congratulations on your follower milestones! You deserve it! I do have a request for you if that’s ok. From the prompt list:

You're supposed to carve the pumpkin, not crush it.

With Din Djarin. He’s my absolute favorite and I love how you write him! Thank you so much and congratulations again!

Hello! I'm so happy to make your acquaintance 😀 And I'm stoked that you like my writing, thank you for telling me!

Din and pumpkins sound like so much fun, I'll be happy to include your request in the celebration, and thank you for taking part! 🥰🥰

[sirowsky]

Alright, folks! I'm accepting requests for another three days, so anyone thinking of joining in, let me know before it's too late 😉🥰

Hey, babes!

Apparently, I'm just shy of 600 followers, and true to tradition, that means I'm doing another prompt challenge!

And since it's October, I thought of maybe turning this into a Halloween themed challenge? I mean, why not 😊

So, if you wanna help me celebrate:

Pick one or more of the prompts below, or make up your own.

Let me know if you have a specific Pedro character in mind, otherwise I'll pick whichever one I feel is the best fit.

Either comment on this post with your picks, or send me an ask.

My goal for this challenge will be to try and write short stories, 600 words or less, which I already know I'm gonna fail spectacularly at 🤣 but it'll be a good exercise anyway!

Thank you to everyone who follows me and/or reads my stories, I will love you forever whether I know you or not. ❤️

Now let's have some fun!

Did you hear that?

What's with all the candles?

You're supposed to carve the pumpkin, not crush it.

It's so dark outside...

Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?

I want to believe.

I never should've listened to you.

Is that a carousel?

Don't go in there!

Did your brain fall out somewhere on the way home?

I don't know what happened.

How did you do that?

This is stupid...

Let's get the hell out of here.

I swear I'm not drunk.

God, that stinks!

Well, that's not worrying at all...

What happened to the toaster?

You scared the shit out of me!

Can we just go home and have sex now?

That's all I can think of right now, but like I said, feel free to hit me with whatever else you can come up with!

[nerdieforpedro]

This so cute 🥰 A sweet side of Dieter ❤️

Like Father, Like Son

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @yourstrulylightstar283 Prompt #5: Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust? Character: Dieter Bravo

Rating: Teen Warnings: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character Gabriela, plus his son Mateo. Pure fluff! (I haven't seen the movie, so this is a lose interpretation of the character. Also, this fic is not overtly Halloween themed.) Word Count: 650 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   He’s supposed to be watching his wife’s niece being celebrated, he knows that. It’s her Quinceañera. But when his beloved Gabriela is wearing a gorgeous summer dress, sitting in the bright sun with her tanned skin glistening from the heat and her dark curls falling protectively over her bare shoulders, he really can’t be blamed for having trouble looking at anything but her.

   He had never imagined that he could have this. That someone like her, who is well educated, who owns her own business, who has friends in all the highest places, this woman who could have anyone in the world, would have chosen him.    The life he’d led up until the point they’d met hadn’t been bad. Not at all. He’d chosen to live exactly as he’d wanted, refusing to apologize for the pleasures he’d enjoyed or the overall chaos that he’d seemed to thrive so effortlessly in.

   But in Gabi, he’d discovered so many new things, so many wonderful layers of life that he’d never thought existed outside of the silver screen. And suddenly, all the things that had always seemed so important had faded into the background, making room for all this instead.    Family and friendships that last and can be depended on. People he can trust completely.

   “Hey, Dee,” a voice whispers in his ear, and he recognizes it as his brother-in-law before he’s even turned around. “Mateo needs you.”

   “Is he okay?” Dieter asks, immediately concerned.

   “Yeah, just come with me.”

   The man leads him into the house where the younger kids are being prepared to take part in a surprise dance routine to delight the girl of the day, and where Dee’s three-year-old son is practicing his twirling skills.    He walks up to the boy and kneels in front of him, finding the kid smiling and giggling, so at least there really isn’t anything wrong.

   “What’s going on, mijo?” he asks, smiling along as Mateo’s joy infects him.

   But instead of answering, the boy puts his arms out in front of his chest, with his little fists closed and upturned, as if preparing to hand his father something.

   “What do you have there?” Dieter inquires with a playful tone, and the kid giggles even harder as he opens his hands and blows hard at them.

   A cloud of pink glitter hits his father in the face, over the shoulders and down his chest, and the boy collapses in a laughing fit.

   “Ay, mijo…” Dee smiles after blinking the worst of it out of his eyes. “Do I look pretty?” he asks then, and Mateo nods while still rolling on the floor, pleased with himself for this flawless execution of a glitter prank.

   He leans over the boy and shakes his clothes to share the sparkling goodness, earning even more laughter in return, before his mother-in-law calls for Mateo to come back to the group and get ready, because they’re about to give the birthday girl her surprise.

   “I love you, mijo,” Dieter says, hugging his son before he runs off to join the others.

   He throws his father a kiss as he falls into their ranks, and it feels as though his heart might crack open right there where he stands, as his love for this child overflows once more.    Returning outside so that he won’t miss the performance, he takes a seat next to Gabi, who chuckles warmly at the sight of her husband.

   “Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?” she asks in a hushed voice, and he smiles.

   “Because our son is the sweetest little boy there is, my love.”

   She just hums at that, but when the children emerge from the house, succeeding in surprising the birthday girl who squeals in excitement, and Gabriela sees that her son is covered in the same stuff, she laughs and lovingly shakes her head.

   “Those are my boys, alright.”

THE END

Thank you @yourstrulylightstar283 for helping me celebrate, and I hope that this is at least something like what you imagined. I tried not to go into specifics about the Quinceanera since I don't know what it entails, and chose to focus on Dieter instead :)

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky]

The celebration is up! I hope everyone enjoyed their stories as much as I enjoyed writing them! 🥰❤️🎉

Sirowsky's Double Whammy

Welcome to the party!

Now, as mentioned, these stories are Halloween themed, but there's no horror involved. Based on the prompts you've chosen, I've ended up writing mostly sweet little stories, so expect nothing particularly scary. However: The 18+ Rating still applies!

I'm starting to post a few days early, because I realized that I'm gonna be very busy this coming week, so feel free to keep sending me Prompts if you get inspired.

This post will serve as the masterlist for these stories, so you'll be able to find it at the bottom of my overall Masterlist. Also, I've really tried to keep these short and easily digestible, so I hope nothing feels incomplete.

Halloween Parade - Pero Tovar (DMTU) 825 words

Like Father, Like Son - Dieter Bravo 650 words

All Hallows Quarrel - Marcus Moreno 825 words

The Haunted Toaster - Javier Gutierrez 660 words

Grumpy Pumpkin - Pero Tovar 750 words

Temple of Love - Pero Tovar 1570 words

Recovery - Marcus Moreno 680 words

As always, I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications and you will only be notified when I post new chapters/fics. I will make exceptions to anyone who finds this option troublesome, for some reason, but I do not guarantee that I'll remember to tag people, because I do not keep a list.

Beyond that; Thank you to everyone who reads my stories, and I reserve a special star in the sky for each one of you who comments or communicates in some other way, to tell me what you're thinking/feeling about what I've written! You are amazing and I love you ;D

[tanzthompson]

Meow! Hot.

Temple of Love

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @bilibiche Prompt #12: How did you do that? Prompt #15: I swear I'm not drunk. Character: Pero Tovar

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x Gender Neutral Reader. AU. Meet cute. Pero has no right to be this hot while twirling deadly weapons around like chop-sticks, okay! Sexual tension galore. Highly suggestive narrative. Soundtrack: Sisters of Mercy - Temple of Love Word Count: 1570 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   You’re late for the first class, rushing into the building where you find no staff at the front desk who can direct you, so for a moment, you just stand there looking around, wondering which door you’re supposed to take.    There are only three people working here, all of whom are instructors, so the front desk is only manned in between classes or when one of them doesn’t have anything on schedule.

   A whiteboard behind the desk shows which classes are available today, and at which times, but it doesn’t say where each one is. So, you’re just gonna have to peek through the doors at random, hoping you won’t disturb anyone.    Fittingly, the first door you crack open leads to a cleaning and maintenance room, both of which you should really apply to your own life so that you might regain some order.

   Opening the second door on the same side of the hallway reveals what looks like a lunchroom for the staff, and now you’re getting seriously frustrated with yourself, so you move to the other side of the corridor and click the closest door open.    It’s the wrong room but you end up frozen on the threshold as the sight that meets you leaves you breathless.

   A man is training alone in there. You’ve never seen the actual man before, but his picture is on the wall in the reception, so you know that his name is Pero and that he works here, but that’s also all you know about him.    You had no idea that he’s apparently an expert swordsman.    While you stand there, mesmerized by the rapid glimmer of the lights reflected in the metal as the man twirls and swings in perfect synchronicity, you can hear how the swords sing.

   Without even knowing it, you’re drawn into the room, carefully closing the door behind you, not even glancing away from the hypnotizing display before you.    But you remain right by the wall just inside the door, afraid to get too close and even more afraid that the guy might get angry at you if you disrupt his routine. So, you just stand there, like a statue, trying to work out how he can do any of this without cutting himself to pieces.

   Then suddenly, he stops. It happens so abruptly that you flinch at the sudden lack of motion, when just half a second ago you were having trouble keeping up with the lightning-fast movements.    He’s not done, though. He seems to be ending one routine and starting another, and if you’re not mistaken, you see his eyes momentarily lock with yours when he steps to the side to turn on some music, before he starts going again.

   And amazingly… impossibly… he’s moving even faster now.    Building speed as he goes, finding the rhythm to Temple of Love, he’s now using the entire floor, whistling past you at a mere three-foot distance, leaping into the air and flipping around in what looks like impossible maneuvers to your eyes.    He’s not just fast, he’s crazy agile too. And you feel like maybe he’s showing off. Just a tad.

   Not that you mind. You’d happily watch this all day.

   Sadly, it soon ends, when he returns to the center of the room and once again becomes completely still, this time even dropping to his knees and putting the swords down.    It isn’t until he’s gotten up, turned the music off and is walking towards you that you remember why you’re even here.

   “S-sorry… I was looking for…” you try, but your mind goes blank when he pulls his white t-shirt off and starts using it as a towel on his literally dripping wet neck, chest and arms.

   “Yes?” he softly prompts you to continue, and you could swear that you see a small smirk in the lines around his mouth as he watches your eyes follow the contours of his muscles.

   “Um… I was looking for the self-defense class.”

   “That’s at the end of the hall. Another three doors down,” he politely directs you, and you know that you should leave, that you’re already way late, but somehow your legs aren’t moving.

   “You should put some numbers on the doors, or something,” is all you can think to say, and he smiles and nods.

   “We’re waiting to have them repainted with chalk paint so that we can write on them.”

   “Oh. That’s clever,” you dumbly reply while your eyes once again drift away from his, tracing the slow movement of a single drop of sweat, trickling down his Adam’s apple and then briefly stopping in the little dip between his collar bones, before continuing down his sternum.

   “Find something interesting?” he asks, snapping your attention back to his face, but thankfully finding him only bemused by your ogling.

   “Well, uh, I was just wondering… How did you do that?” you manage to say, despite your growing shame at your own lack of restraint.

   “I first learned as a young boy. And as with anything you want to master, it takes thousands of hours of practice, first with sticks, then blunt blades, and finally the real thing.    But what I teach here is more basic. Usually, actors who need to learn not to look useless holding a sword in a movie or tv-show.”

   “That seems like a waste of talent, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

   “No, that’s alright. There isn’t much need for my level of skill in the real world. I don’t do this as a way of fighting, it’s more like… meditation,” he explains, and you’re a bit surprised at the admission that he might need that kind of soul cleansing.

   He notices your slight reaction, but it only makes him smile.

   “I have plenty of reasons to need meditation. Everyone does. And most of us do find our own way to it. Some play golf, some play video games. Others walk dogs or ride horses.    What’s your thing?” he finishes by turning the topic over to you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   “I don’t know… I like to read, I guess. That usually helps me relax.”

   “Good,” he nods approvingly, but then his smile turns a bit sly. “Still not great at reading the time, though.”

   “Oh, shit!” you gripe, remembering your class. “I’m so sorry I bothered you, sir.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” he kindly offers, and you finally manage to coax your legs into turning you around.

   But as you turn, you stumble down from the thin mat which protects the floor, and people’s limbs from breaking, and you’re about to fall on your face when he catches you.

   “Careful, there. It’s easy to snag the soles of your shoes in the added grip of the mat.”

   Afraid that you’re just gonna embarrass yourself even more if you try to speak, you just smile and nod before heading for the door.    You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped onto the mat at all. When had you done that?    The question becomes moot, however, when you go to open the door, miss the handle and end up walking straight into the wooden frame.

   Instead of stepping back, you just rest your forehead against the door, putting your hands on your hips in pointless defiance of your own stupidity, trying to bury the humiliation by just not looking at him, because you know that he saw it.

   “I swear I’m not drunk,” you grumble, surely looking like a complete idiot but too far gone to care.

   “I didn’t think so,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Still… maybe I should drive you home.”

   You lift your head away from the door and drop your arms down your sides, frowning deeply as you try to ascertain if he actually just said that or if you merely imagined it.    Your own brain is too unreliable right now, so you turn around to look at him in the hopes of finding an answer, but he’s just standing there, as leisurely as ever.

   “What?” you try, and after a moment, he smiles again.

   “I said that maybe I should drive you home. You seem dangerously distracted.”

   “Well, I wholeheartedly and unapologetically blame you for that. No one should be so talented and look that good,” you retort, before mentally chastising yourself, because you might as well be drunk.

   You never talk like that to strangers. Not ever.

   He steps closer then, until he’s crowding you against the back of the door, and his smell hits your senses like a sledgehammer.    Sweat, of course, but remnants of deodorant as well. And when his hand comes up to brush a stray hair back into place, you can smell the metal and leather of the handles of his swords.

   “If I do take you home,” he starts, and his voice is honey now, deep and low, “then I’ll need to come inside and make sure you get to bed alright.    So, with that in mind, I’ll ask again: Do you want me to drive you home?”

   You try to think rationally, to weigh the potential dangers against the potential benefits, but if your mind wasn’t working before, it sure as shit ain’t working now.    All you’ve got is how you feel, in this moment right now, and there’s no ambivalence present. You know exactly what you want.    For once, it’s an easy answer.

   “Yes. Please.”

THE END

Massive thanks to @bilibiche for putting the image of a sweat-soaked Pero Tovar showing off with shiny swords into my head, cause that's gonna take a hot minute to scrub out! XD Seriously though, this was a hoot! Thank you, love.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky]

@bilibiche Well, just know I'm squealing and giggling too!

Thank you for the wonderful inspiration 💖💖💖💖💖

Temple of Love

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @bilibiche Prompt #12: How did you do that? Prompt #15: I swear I'm not drunk. Character: Pero Tovar

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x Gender Neutral Reader. AU. Meet cute. Pero has no right to be this hot while twirling deadly weapons around like chop-sticks, okay! Sexual tension galore. Highly suggestive narrative. Soundtrack: Sisters of Mercy - Temple of Love Word Count: 1570 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   You’re late for the first class, rushing into the building where you find no staff at the front desk who can direct you, so for a moment, you just stand there looking around, wondering which door you’re supposed to take.    There are only three people working here, all of whom are instructors, so the front desk is only manned in between classes or when one of them doesn’t have anything on schedule.

   A whiteboard behind the desk shows which classes are available today, and at which times, but it doesn’t say where each one is. So, you’re just gonna have to peek through the doors at random, hoping you won’t disturb anyone.    Fittingly, the first door you crack open leads to a cleaning and maintenance room, both of which you should really apply to your own life so that you might regain some order.

   Opening the second door on the same side of the hallway reveals what looks like a lunchroom for the staff, and now you’re getting seriously frustrated with yourself, so you move to the other side of the corridor and click the closest door open.    It’s the wrong room but you end up frozen on the threshold as the sight that meets you leaves you breathless.

   A man is training alone in there. You’ve never seen the actual man before, but his picture is on the wall in the reception, so you know that his name is Pero and that he works here, but that’s also all you know about him.    You had no idea that he’s apparently an expert swordsman.    While you stand there, mesmerized by the rapid glimmer of the lights reflected in the metal as the man twirls and swings in perfect synchronicity, you can hear how the swords sing.

   Without even knowing it, you’re drawn into the room, carefully closing the door behind you, not even glancing away from the hypnotizing display before you.    But you remain right by the wall just inside the door, afraid to get too close and even more afraid that the guy might get angry at you if you disrupt his routine. So, you just stand there, like a statue, trying to work out how he can do any of this without cutting himself to pieces.

   Then suddenly, he stops. It happens so abruptly that you flinch at the sudden lack of motion, when just half a second ago you were having trouble keeping up with the lightning-fast movements.    He’s not done, though. He seems to be ending one routine and starting another, and if you’re not mistaken, you see his eyes momentarily lock with yours when he steps to the side to turn on some music, before he starts going again.

   And amazingly… impossibly… he’s moving even faster now.    Building speed as he goes, finding the rhythm to Temple of Love, he’s now using the entire floor, whistling past you at a mere three-foot distance, leaping into the air and flipping around in what looks like impossible maneuvers to your eyes.    He’s not just fast, he’s crazy agile too. And you feel like maybe he’s showing off. Just a tad.

   Not that you mind. You’d happily watch this all day.

   Sadly, it soon ends, when he returns to the center of the room and once again becomes completely still, this time even dropping to his knees and putting the swords down.    It isn’t until he’s gotten up, turned the music off and is walking towards you that you remember why you’re even here.

   “S-sorry… I was looking for…” you try, but your mind goes blank when he pulls his white t-shirt off and starts using it as a towel on his literally dripping wet neck, chest and arms.

   “Yes?” he softly prompts you to continue, and you could swear that you see a small smirk in the lines around his mouth as he watches your eyes follow the contours of his muscles.

   “Um… I was looking for the self-defense class.”

   “That’s at the end of the hall. Another three doors down,” he politely directs you, and you know that you should leave, that you’re already way late, but somehow your legs aren’t moving.

   “You should put some numbers on the doors, or something,” is all you can think to say, and he smiles and nods.

   “We’re waiting to have them repainted with chalk paint so that we can write on them.”

   “Oh. That’s clever,” you dumbly reply while your eyes once again drift away from his, tracing the slow movement of a single drop of sweat, trickling down his Adam’s apple and then briefly stopping in the little dip between his collar bones, before continuing down his sternum.

   “Find something interesting?” he asks, snapping your attention back to his face, but thankfully finding him only bemused by your ogling.

   “Well, uh, I was just wondering… How did you do that?” you manage to say, despite your growing shame at your own lack of restraint.

   “I first learned as a young boy. And as with anything you want to master, it takes thousands of hours of practice, first with sticks, then blunt blades, and finally the real thing.    But what I teach here is more basic. Usually, actors who need to learn not to look useless holding a sword in a movie or tv-show.”

   “That seems like a waste of talent, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

   “No, that’s alright. There isn’t much need for my level of skill in the real world. I don’t do this as a way of fighting, it’s more like… meditation,” he explains, and you’re a bit surprised at the admission that he might need that kind of soul cleansing.

   He notices your slight reaction, but it only makes him smile.

   “I have plenty of reasons to need meditation. Everyone does. And most of us do find our own way to it. Some play golf, some play video games. Others walk dogs or ride horses.    What’s your thing?” he finishes by turning the topic over to you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   “I don’t know… I like to read, I guess. That usually helps me relax.”

   “Good,” he nods approvingly, but then his smile turns a bit sly. “Still not great at reading the time, though.”

   “Oh, shit!” you gripe, remembering your class. “I’m so sorry I bothered you, sir.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” he kindly offers, and you finally manage to coax your legs into turning you around.

   But as you turn, you stumble down from the thin mat which protects the floor, and people’s limbs from breaking, and you’re about to fall on your face when he catches you.

   “Careful, there. It’s easy to snag the soles of your shoes in the added grip of the mat.”

   Afraid that you’re just gonna embarrass yourself even more if you try to speak, you just smile and nod before heading for the door.    You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped onto the mat at all. When had you done that?    The question becomes moot, however, when you go to open the door, miss the handle and end up walking straight into the wooden frame.

   Instead of stepping back, you just rest your forehead against the door, putting your hands on your hips in pointless defiance of your own stupidity, trying to bury the humiliation by just not looking at him, because you know that he saw it.

   “I swear I’m not drunk,” you grumble, surely looking like a complete idiot but too far gone to care.

   “I didn’t think so,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Still… maybe I should drive you home.”

   You lift your head away from the door and drop your arms down your sides, frowning deeply as you try to ascertain if he actually just said that or if you merely imagined it.    Your own brain is too unreliable right now, so you turn around to look at him in the hopes of finding an answer, but he’s just standing there, as leisurely as ever.

   “What?” you try, and after a moment, he smiles again.

   “I said that maybe I should drive you home. You seem dangerously distracted.”

   “Well, I wholeheartedly and unapologetically blame you for that. No one should be so talented and look that good,” you retort, before mentally chastising yourself, because you might as well be drunk.

   You never talk like that to strangers. Not ever.

   He steps closer then, until he’s crowding you against the back of the door, and his smell hits your senses like a sledgehammer.    Sweat, of course, but remnants of deodorant as well. And when his hand comes up to brush a stray hair back into place, you can smell the metal and leather of the handles of his swords.

   “If I do take you home,” he starts, and his voice is honey now, deep and low, “then I’ll need to come inside and make sure you get to bed alright.    So, with that in mind, I’ll ask again: Do you want me to drive you home?”

   You try to think rationally, to weigh the potential dangers against the potential benefits, but if your mind wasn’t working before, it sure as shit ain’t working now.    All you’ve got is how you feel, in this moment right now, and there’s no ambivalence present. You know exactly what you want.    For once, it’s an easy answer.

   “Yes. Please.”

THE END

Massive thanks to @bilibiche for putting the image of a sweat-soaked Pero Tovar showing off with shiny swords into my head, cause that's gonna take a hot minute to scrub out! XD Seriously though, this was a hoot! Thank you, love.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky]

@tanzthompson Glad to hear it 😉

Temple of Love

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @bilibiche Prompt #12: How did you do that? Prompt #15: I swear I'm not drunk. Character: Pero Tovar

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x Gender Neutral Reader. AU. Meet cute. Pero has no right to be this hot while twirling deadly weapons around like chop-sticks, okay! Sexual tension galore. Highly suggestive narrative. Soundtrack: Sisters of Mercy - Temple of Love Word Count: 1570 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   You’re late for the first class, rushing into the building where you find no staff at the front desk who can direct you, so for a moment, you just stand there looking around, wondering which door you’re supposed to take.    There are only three people working here, all of whom are instructors, so the front desk is only manned in between classes or when one of them doesn’t have anything on schedule.

   A whiteboard behind the desk shows which classes are available today, and at which times, but it doesn’t say where each one is. So, you’re just gonna have to peek through the doors at random, hoping you won’t disturb anyone.    Fittingly, the first door you crack open leads to a cleaning and maintenance room, both of which you should really apply to your own life so that you might regain some order.

   Opening the second door on the same side of the hallway reveals what looks like a lunchroom for the staff, and now you’re getting seriously frustrated with yourself, so you move to the other side of the corridor and click the closest door open.    It’s the wrong room but you end up frozen on the threshold as the sight that meets you leaves you breathless.

   A man is training alone in there. You’ve never seen the actual man before, but his picture is on the wall in the reception, so you know that his name is Pero and that he works here, but that’s also all you know about him.    You had no idea that he’s apparently an expert swordsman.    While you stand there, mesmerized by the rapid glimmer of the lights reflected in the metal as the man twirls and swings in perfect synchronicity, you can hear how the swords sing.

   Without even knowing it, you’re drawn into the room, carefully closing the door behind you, not even glancing away from the hypnotizing display before you.    But you remain right by the wall just inside the door, afraid to get too close and even more afraid that the guy might get angry at you if you disrupt his routine. So, you just stand there, like a statue, trying to work out how he can do any of this without cutting himself to pieces.

   Then suddenly, he stops. It happens so abruptly that you flinch at the sudden lack of motion, when just half a second ago you were having trouble keeping up with the lightning-fast movements.    He’s not done, though. He seems to be ending one routine and starting another, and if you’re not mistaken, you see his eyes momentarily lock with yours when he steps to the side to turn on some music, before he starts going again.

   And amazingly… impossibly… he’s moving even faster now.    Building speed as he goes, finding the rhythm to Temple of Love, he’s now using the entire floor, whistling past you at a mere three-foot distance, leaping into the air and flipping around in what looks like impossible maneuvers to your eyes.    He’s not just fast, he’s crazy agile too. And you feel like maybe he’s showing off. Just a tad.

   Not that you mind. You’d happily watch this all day.

   Sadly, it soon ends, when he returns to the center of the room and once again becomes completely still, this time even dropping to his knees and putting the swords down.    It isn’t until he’s gotten up, turned the music off and is walking towards you that you remember why you’re even here.

   “S-sorry… I was looking for…” you try, but your mind goes blank when he pulls his white t-shirt off and starts using it as a towel on his literally dripping wet neck, chest and arms.

   “Yes?” he softly prompts you to continue, and you could swear that you see a small smirk in the lines around his mouth as he watches your eyes follow the contours of his muscles.

   “Um… I was looking for the self-defense class.”

   “That’s at the end of the hall. Another three doors down,” he politely directs you, and you know that you should leave, that you’re already way late, but somehow your legs aren’t moving.

   “You should put some numbers on the doors, or something,” is all you can think to say, and he smiles and nods.

   “We’re waiting to have them repainted with chalk paint so that we can write on them.”

   “Oh. That’s clever,” you dumbly reply while your eyes once again drift away from his, tracing the slow movement of a single drop of sweat, trickling down his Adam’s apple and then briefly stopping in the little dip between his collar bones, before continuing down his sternum.

   “Find something interesting?” he asks, snapping your attention back to his face, but thankfully finding him only bemused by your ogling.

   “Well, uh, I was just wondering… How did you do that?” you manage to say, despite your growing shame at your own lack of restraint.

   “I first learned as a young boy. And as with anything you want to master, it takes thousands of hours of practice, first with sticks, then blunt blades, and finally the real thing.    But what I teach here is more basic. Usually, actors who need to learn not to look useless holding a sword in a movie or tv-show.”

   “That seems like a waste of talent, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

   “No, that’s alright. There isn’t much need for my level of skill in the real world. I don’t do this as a way of fighting, it’s more like… meditation,” he explains, and you’re a bit surprised at the admission that he might need that kind of soul cleansing.

   He notices your slight reaction, but it only makes him smile.

   “I have plenty of reasons to need meditation. Everyone does. And most of us do find our own way to it. Some play golf, some play video games. Others walk dogs or ride horses.    What’s your thing?” he finishes by turning the topic over to you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   “I don’t know… I like to read, I guess. That usually helps me relax.”

   “Good,” he nods approvingly, but then his smile turns a bit sly. “Still not great at reading the time, though.”

   “Oh, shit!” you gripe, remembering your class. “I’m so sorry I bothered you, sir.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” he kindly offers, and you finally manage to coax your legs into turning you around.

   But as you turn, you stumble down from the thin mat which protects the floor, and people’s limbs from breaking, and you’re about to fall on your face when he catches you.

   “Careful, there. It’s easy to snag the soles of your shoes in the added grip of the mat.”

   Afraid that you’re just gonna embarrass yourself even more if you try to speak, you just smile and nod before heading for the door.    You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped onto the mat at all. When had you done that?    The question becomes moot, however, when you go to open the door, miss the handle and end up walking straight into the wooden frame.

   Instead of stepping back, you just rest your forehead against the door, putting your hands on your hips in pointless defiance of your own stupidity, trying to bury the humiliation by just not looking at him, because you know that he saw it.

   “I swear I’m not drunk,” you grumble, surely looking like a complete idiot but too far gone to care.

   “I didn’t think so,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Still… maybe I should drive you home.”

   You lift your head away from the door and drop your arms down your sides, frowning deeply as you try to ascertain if he actually just said that or if you merely imagined it.    Your own brain is too unreliable right now, so you turn around to look at him in the hopes of finding an answer, but he’s just standing there, as leisurely as ever.

   “What?” you try, and after a moment, he smiles again.

   “I said that maybe I should drive you home. You seem dangerously distracted.”

   “Well, I wholeheartedly and unapologetically blame you for that. No one should be so talented and look that good,” you retort, before mentally chastising yourself, because you might as well be drunk.

   You never talk like that to strangers. Not ever.

   He steps closer then, until he’s crowding you against the back of the door, and his smell hits your senses like a sledgehammer.    Sweat, of course, but remnants of deodorant as well. And when his hand comes up to brush a stray hair back into place, you can smell the metal and leather of the handles of his swords.

   “If I do take you home,” he starts, and his voice is honey now, deep and low, “then I’ll need to come inside and make sure you get to bed alright.    So, with that in mind, I’ll ask again: Do you want me to drive you home?”

   You try to think rationally, to weigh the potential dangers against the potential benefits, but if your mind wasn’t working before, it sure as shit ain’t working now.    All you’ve got is how you feel, in this moment right now, and there’s no ambivalence present. You know exactly what you want.    For once, it’s an easy answer.

   “Yes. Please.”

THE END

Massive thanks to @bilibiche for putting the image of a sweat-soaked Pero Tovar showing off with shiny swords into my head, cause that's gonna take a hot minute to scrub out! XD Seriously though, this was a hoot! Thank you, love.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[myloveistoolittle]

Awww, yay! This was so cute and a ton of fun to read! Javi G. is one of my favorites. Thanks so much for this, you did a fantastic job with the prompts!

The Haunted Toaster

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @myloveistoolittle Prompt #5: Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust? Prompt #18: What happened to the toaster? Character: Javier Gutierrez

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Javier Gutierrez x Gender Neutral Reader. Established relationship. The toaster might really be haunted. Implied smut. Word Count: 660 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   He looks quite adorable when he whirls around, startled by your presence since he clearly hasn’t heard you arrive, and the motion sends glitter flying all over the kitchen.    You’d thought that he’d heard the front door open and close, so you’re equally startled by his reaction, momentarily freezing right in the middle of putting your bag down on top of the dishwasher.

   “Javi… why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?” you ask, unsure of where else to begin with the scene before you.

   “I was trying an experiment,” he says, before realizing that he’s holding the plug of the toaster up beside him, and quickly shifts both arms to hide behind his back instead. “It… maybe didn’t go as planned.”

   “Maybe?” you question, but you can’t help but smile because he’s just too sweet. “What happened to the toaster?”

   You try to peek behind him, but he sidesteps to block your view, so you stop and raise your eyebrows at him while dipping your chin in a silent challenge for the truth, and he immediately caves.

   “I don’t know what happened, amor! The man in the video just poured the glitter into the toaster and turned it on, and then when it popped up it was like a little rainbow, it was so cute! And I knew you would love it, so I got all the stuff, but when I tried…”

   He lets go of the plug and moves away so that you can see the damage, and oh golly.

   “It looks like the whole thing imploded. Are you sure that it wasn’t radioactive dust you used?” you question, and he brings you the bag that it had been sold in.

   “See, it says that it’s heat safe, will not melt even in the highest oven temperatures. I don’t underst-…”

   He’s cut off by the sound of the toaster suddenly creaking ominously, and you both take a quick step back.

   “Do you think it’s haunted?” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you from the side, but you get the feeling that it’s more to comfort himself rather than you.

   “Why would anything haunt a toaster?” you retort, but right then, the damned thing seems to cough and more glitter whirls into the air before landing on the counter.

   You wrap your arms around his waist now too, and together the two of you back away further, slowly heading out of the kitchen.    But when it hops, all on its own, three inches forwards on the counter, you both scream and leg it, running for the bedroom where you close and lock the door.

   “This is ridiculous,” you chuckle at yourself after you’ve both been standing pressed against the door for a while, trying to hear if it’s still moving.

   “It fucking moved!” he growls, while you step away and lay down on the bed.

   “It was probably just the metal cooling.”

   “Then why did you run?” he challenges, crossing his arms over his chest, and you have to stifle a laugh because he still looks so cute with all that pink glitter in his hair, on his face and all over his shirt.

   “Because it’s Halloween, and we’re all in spooky mode.”

   “I’m not. I was trying to prepare a cute surprise, not something spooky,” he says, and he looks genuinely sad that he didn’t get to surprise you with the sparkly rainbow.

   “Javi… you’re covered in glitter standing at the foot of our bed. If you wanna give me something cute, just take off your clothes and let me have you.”

   He likes that. Enough that he forgets all about haunted toasters and failed experiments, shedding his clothes in record time before jumping up onto the bed and preceding to shake all the loose dust off himself and down onto you, making you giggle at his playfulness, before he drops to his knees and settles in between your legs.

   “Just tell me where you want me, amor.”

THE END

Thank you so much, Casey! This one was terrific fun to write and hopefully also fun to read :D

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed